


Distraction

by airspaniel



Series: Discipline [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Collars, D/s, Discipline, Leather Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"It bothers you," Sherlock says, as if he has no idea why it should.  He touches it, then, long pale fingers against the leather, against his own skin; and John has to avert his eyes, suddenly <i>intensely</i> fascinated by a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/profile)[**toestastegood**](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/) for round two of the [Five Acts meme](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/550739.html), but I've fiddled with it just a bit since. Prompt was "collars." Comments/crit always welcome!
> 
> _ETA:_ Now available [in Chinese](http://www.jjwxc.net/onebook.php?novelid=905127)! Thanks to joyceeeee_e. ^_^

The band is a dark coffee brown, shiny and new; the richness of the leather a perfect complement to the pale throat it encircles. Or perhaps that's the other way around.

Either way, John's having a difficult time focusing on anything else.

"You're wearing a collar," he says, anticipating the small long-suffering sigh he usually gets from his flatmate when he states the obvious.

He's not disappointed. "Yes, I am," Sherlock replies, fingers tapping restlessly against the keys of John's laptop.

"For an experiment?" John asks, intending to sound casual. "Or did you suddenly feel the need to be more daring with your fashion choices?"

Sherlock looks up then, curious. "It bothers you," he says, as if he has no idea why it should. He touches it, then, long pale fingers against the leather, against his own skin; and John has to avert his eyes, suddenly _intensely_ fascinated by a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper.

_Bother_ isn't exactly the word.

"You _like_ it," Sherlock amends, more surely now, more interested. "Why, John, I had no idea you were such a deviant." The laptop clicks shut, and he pushes it aside in favor of leaning across the table, hands folded neatly under his chin. "Is it the look of the thing, I wonder, or… ah, no, of course."

"Of course what?"

Sherlock smiles like he's got the whole thing solved; the entire complex equation titled _John Watson._ "The implications. Ownership. Submission. Discipline."

"You could use some discipline," John retorts, feeling as if he's being put on the spot. Still, he can't help considering that if he reached his hand out and pulled Sherlock's ridiculous hair up just a bit, he'd be able to see the buckle resting against the back of his neck. He's very tempted to do it, and see what happens.

As if responding to his thoughts, Sherlock turns his head slightly, his throat left half-exposed by the motion. "Would you do it, then?"

John can't read his tone. On anyone else… On anyone else, he might call it _invitation_.

"Do what?" he asks, aware of the sudden roughness in his own voice.

Sherlock's eyes are intent and incredibly clear, pale grey gone dark like an impending storm. "Teach me discipline."

And that… there's no mistaking _that_, and no sense in hiding the fact that yes, that is something John would very much like to do. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twists up, something very like victory in the expression.

This was not what John had expected of his Wednesday evening, but he prides himself lately on his ability to just go with it.

"Sit up and put your hands flat on the table," he says; he _commands_, for though his voice is soft, there's no question that it's meant to be obeyed. And Sherlock does, immediately, which catches both of them a bit by surprise.

John gives in to his earlier temptation, pushing his fingers into the thick dark curls at the base of Sherlock's skull and lifting them out of the way. Sherlock exhales at the touch, something like relief in the sound, and he tilts his head forward just a little, just enough for the polished silver of the buckle to catch the light.

It's beautifully made. John reaches up, touches fingertips to the metal, other hand still firm in Sherlock's hair. He traces the buckle, lets his fingers follow the line of the collar; the change in texture from slick and sharp to smooth and rich. The edge of a nail grazes pale, soft skin as it passes, and John can feel the man's pulse, faster than normal, belying his stoicism. He allows himself a moment of indulgence, strokes his hand affectionately over Sherlock's throat.

Then John lets him go, takes his hands away to pick at the buckle, pulling the leather free and sliding it away from Sherlock's neck. He winds it around his hand, still warm from the heat of Sherlock's body, and rubs the pad of his thumb over it thoughtfully. If he is, if _they_ are going to do this, it's going to be done right.

"John?" Stormy eyes search his, looking for all the world like they're disappointed, and John experiences an all too rare moment of satisfaction at the fact that he knows something Sherlock Holmes doesn't.

"Turn around," he says, and Sherlock does so.

A long moment passes where John does nothing, just watches the set of Sherlock's back, the line of his neck; the tense restlessness just under the surface, how much he wants to move, but is resisting the urge.

He settles his hands on the man's shoulders and can feel that tension still itself. He unwinds the collar from his hand and lays it once more against Sherlock's throat, fastening the buckle with a quick, practiced motion. Sherlock's hands tense and release against the table, but he keeps them there obediently; and John is beginning to think that he doesn't so much need to be taught discipline, he just needs someone to take control.

He's honored, in a way.

"First things," John begins, leaning in close to speak in Sherlock's ear; one hand resting proprietarily on the back of his neck, fingers stretched out along the leather. "It doesn't mean anything if you put it on yourself. I will never do anything to harm you, or make you do anything against your will; but I'm the one who put that collar there, and I am the only one who will take it off again. Are we clear?"

Sherlock turns his head, risking a look, and his expression is equal parts gratitude and challenge. "Yes, John."

He could really get used to this.


End file.
